


Morale Boosters

by dragonspell



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, M/M, Underage Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-04
Updated: 2012-02-04
Packaged: 2017-10-30 14:33:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,457
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/332801
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dragonspell/pseuds/dragonspell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The deal is very simple.  As head cheerleader, Jensen puts in a lot of work to keep morale up.  He expects the star player to do the same.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Morale Boosters

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a January 2012 blindfold_spn [prompt](http://blindfold-spn.livejournal.com/7359.html?thread=8099263#t8099263) (The agreement is for every game Jared loses, Jensen gets to fuck him beneath the bleachers afterwards.)

The deal is very simple. 

Jensen works hard to try and keep morale high; he doesn’t think that he’s out of line for thinking that he deserves a little bit of recognition for that. Some guys, some of the dumber ones, like to make jokes and ask how hard is it to shake his ass and a couple of pompom at the bleachers. Jensen's past the point of wanting to punch those guys in the nose—he's matured, apparently—and instead just levels a smirk and asks them if they'd like to go for a run. 

Even the dumb ones have learned not to take Jensen up on his offer. It hurts their pride too much when he leaves them in the dust without even breaking a sweat.

There's no doubt that football's hard work but Jensen knows that none of the jeering jocks have even a third of his stamina. Sure, they can tackle the big behemoths that line the fields and, sure, a couple of them can even run a couple hundred yards at a fast clip. What they can't do, though, is go at it for hours, running up and down the field to perform quick, precise plays that involve holding all hundred and five pounds of Dani over their heads just to run to the other side and do the same damn thing with a twist. All with a smile. It's pretty damn hard.

Most of the people he works with—players and cheerleaders alike—respect him for what he puts into it. Jensen's not one of those kind of guys that can do something half-way and feel satisfied. No, Jensen's got to give 110%—and only that if he can't manage a 120 or better. They see what Jensen does and they appreciate him for it. Nobody works harder than Jensen.

It might have to do with being the only guy on a cheerleading squad but Jensen just likes to think that he's driven. That he's got character. Plus, it just _does_ something to him, twists up his insides, when he sees the crowd getting pumped up, shouting and waving and chanting because he _told_ them to. That's a pretty heady wave to ride and it washes Jensen all the way through the school year. It's given him a kind of confidence he didn't have before. He likes it.

Team morale has doubled since Jensen became captain of the squad—and ticket sales to the sporting events are up. Hell, half the time, the crowd's shouting for _Jensen_ just as much as the players on the field and that's a trip. That will get Jensen doing flips and roundoffs on the sidelines just because he can. The crowd cheers and the opposing team looks just a tad bit intimidated because they buy into the stereotype and Jensen has no problem ruthlessly using that against them. He can almost _hear_ them thinking, that dutifully amazed, vaguely insulting "if their cheerleaders can do _that_ , then what can their _players_ do?"

It's all part of the job and Jensen's damn good at it.

So, the deal's simple: Jensen works hard to keep up the school morale and the teams? Well, they go out and make sure that morale is justified. There's nothing Jensen hates more than losing—the wave he's been building slamming straight into a _rock_ , it's momentum shattering. And then he has to start all over.

Yeah, sure, winning isn't everything but, damn, it is _something_. "It's not whether you win or lose, it's how you play the game" is something you tell the losers so they feel better.

It was that kind of drive that made Jensen first push at Jared. At the time, Jared had been a fairly decent player all around—the obvious choice for next year's quarterback, a center on the basketball team, a guy that averaged .310 at bat—and Jensen knew full well that he was going to be depending on Jared for his fix for the next couple of years. Jared was just starting to grow into his body and he was only going to get better. Provided he had the right motivation.

"Hey rookie," Jensen had said, the day after Jared had made varsity. It wasn't that Jensen made a habit of antagonizing the players but, well, Jared had been plodding around the indoor track during the assigned cheerleader practice and his height was hard to ignore. Later on, Jensen would realize what that funny little stab in his gut when Jared stopped and turned around was all about but at the time, he hadn't been thinking. Hadn't been _able_ to think. He was too busy getting lost in Jared's dimples. "Hear you're starting on Friday."

Jensen had sauntered up and Jared's shoulders had hunched before he remembered who he was—and who Jensen was for that matter. Deserved or not, Jensen had a reputation for eating those who showed fear. Jensen preferred to think of it as keeping the troops fighting fit. "Yeah," Jared said, his voice a little breathy but that could be chalked up to the run. "Chad hurt his wrist. Coach is putting me in."

"Well then you'd better do a damn good job." Jensen's hand settled onto his hip and Jared's eyes had followed the motion. Jensen had never been more aware of the tight black shorts he tended to wear for practice. "I hate losing."

The smile had started out small, just a curve of Jared's lips, but it wasn't long before it split his face and the result was so damn devastating that Jensen had a hard time trying to remember how to breathe. "Well that's good," he said. "Because I don't plan on losing."

It was then, Jensen thought, that he'd been swept out to sea by the riptide that was Jared but it had taken him awhile to notice. Jared was just so damn deceptive about it, casual and easy until you realized that you were caught and he was tangled around you so badly you weren't ever going to get loose. And you didn't want to.

The banter had soon been expounded on by adding bets—betting made _anything_ better—that extra bonus on top of the win—and before Jensen knew it, he was promising to buy Jared pizza if he won or the other way around if Jared lost. Just a little incentive to keep Jared’s morale high, keep him winning. From there, they were only a realization and a kiss away from upping the stakes: a kiss if Jared won, a cutting remark and a week long embargo if he lost. 

The longer it went, the more inventive they got. A win netting Jared a handjob, a loss making him give it away to Jensen. Getting an all-access pass to Jensen's body versus Jensen teasing him for hours and then not letting him come after jerking off on top of him. 

It took them over a year to work out the details but now, Jensen's pretty happy with the way things are. He doesn't even mind losing so much because the deal's pretty simple: if Jared wins, Jensen will drop to his knees behind the bleachers and suck him off right then and there in front of God and everybody who bothers to look before the guys find them and haul Jared off for pizza. That's sweet enough because Jensen doesn't mind licking Jared like a lollipop, doesn't even mind swallowing, and he'll jerk himself off right there at Jared's feet. If Jared _loses_ , though...

Jensen thinks he's pretty much shot himself in the foot because sometimes he actively roots for the team to _lose_ and that's the opposite of what he should be standing for. If Jared loses, though, Jensen gets a shot at Jared's sweet ass and, Jesus, he's only human. The first time, Jared had even hinted about that being part of the deal, Jensen had nearly creamed his shorts. Considering that they were standing in the middle of the gym, having a little teasing tete-a-tete while chaos reigned around them, it would have been more than a little awkward.

The thing is, they’re both getting what they want. Jared loves blowjobs. He’s zoned out during English class more than a few times, staring at Jensen’s lips and nine times out of ten, if they’re lying in bed and Jensen asks Jared what he wants, Jared will shove Jensen’s head downward. Jensen doesn’t mind, even if he grumbles about the romance being dead already when he bows his head. As for Jensen, he’s got more than a little obsession with Jared’s ass—staring at it, memorizing it, getting his hands on it and groping, pushing inside and having his world flip upside down by the way it grips him hot and tight. Jensen dreams of Jared’s ass.

Jared doesn’t seem to mind the fucking—he offers himself up easily enough—but Jensen knows he prefers the blowjobs. Probably something about the power trip, coming down off the high of the game, and having Jensen on his knees sucking him off like a greedy slut. Sometimes Jared lets it really go to his head and starts demanding that Jensen shove a finger into himself, _really_ submit, and Jensen will do it because those are the rules. He’s Jared’s eager little bitch if Jared wins because it gives Jared that much more incentive to win.

And Jared’s good. The entire school knows he’s good. He’s got college scouts drooling all over him and he didn’t make quarterback just because of his tight ass—regardless of how easy it is to bounce a quarter off of. They’re so fucking evenly matched, too, because Jared’s got Jensen’s drive to win. He’s a whole other person on the field, on the court—a wolf with its pack bringing down prey. Jared doesn’t lose easily.

Which would be why Jensen’s been looking forward to today. He would have marked it down on the damn calendar if it wasn’t already nicely bolded in blue as a game day. Today was the day they played St. Francis and Jensen had known that Jared would play his heart out trying to win. That the team would try its _damnedest_ , not a single guy leaving the field without dirt stained up and down his uniform. But it just wouldn’t matter. Everyone knew you couldn’t compete with St. Francis. Couldn’t win against the private school that shelled out big bucks for athletes that started at Jared’s size and only got bigger from there on out. Couldn’t contend with a school that thought that dead weeks and off-seasons were for quitters.

Jensen had just turned his back to the team and focused on the crowd. This was a loss that wouldn’t count against them. The fans would forgive them because nobody won against St. Francis and they’d still make the playoffs. Jensen had given his all tonight, running with the squad, knowing they were given everything they had, too. He’d kept his eyes off the game, though, not because he was focusing on the job, but because, shivery anticipation of having Jared’s ass or not, Jensen hadn’t wanted to see him get smeared all across the field.

Now, though… Now Jensen has Jared’s bruised and battered but still in one piece body underneath him and Jensen can’t look anywhere else but at Jared. He doesn’t even try to be gentle, knows that Jared likes the pain, knows that it adds to the thrill of doing this rough and dirty and right where anyone could run into them, and he roughly pushes Jared down into the dirt for one last time tonight and shoves inside. Jensen nearly blanks out with how hot it feels, having Jared’s ass squeezing his cock hard and tight. He gasps, a shuddery, weak sound, and bends over Jared’s back because, sweet Christ, he thinks he’s seeing God. 

Jared’s hand, rough and solid, palms Jensen’s hip, fingers digging into the side of Jensen’s ass, and, just like that, Jensen’s grounded again, back in the here and now, living with the feeling of Jared underneath him, his pads off and his jersey wadded in a ball a few feet away because Jensen had been too eager to treat it nicely. Jared’s tight pants are down around his knees, keeping his legs together while Jensen pounds into him. Jared chokes off a whimper, biting into his arm because they’re only barely hidden and all it will take is the wrong noise at the wrong time to bring somebody running. They’ve got to be quiet about this. Jensen sucks on Jared’s shoulder, keeping his own mouth occupied because right now he wants to gasp and moan and tell Jared about how much he loves fucking Jared’s ass. How much he wishes that they could stay just like this for the rest of eternity because it’s so damn good.

Out of necessity, they’ve got to make this quick. Right now, the rest of the team is in the locker room, taking showers, getting changed, telling themselves that they played well and that they’ll do better next time. Some of them probably don’t even realize that Jared’s missing and those that do just think that’s he still on the field, replaying the game in his head. They have no clue where he really is, have no idea just how easily their star quarterback bends over and takes it from the head cheerleader—how he spreads his legs and lets Jensen mount him like he’s a bitch in heat and how, before they’re done, he’ll shake and beg for Jensen to fuck him harder, faster and, “oh, Jesus, please, Jen, God, fuck, need to come, let me come, let me, let me, let me…” It’s a harsh whisper, way down low because Jared doesn’t want to attract attention but he can’t control his mouth. He never can when he’s close, so turned on he loses his mind.

And it never fails to make Jensen lose _his_. Jared’s so fucking hot that Jensen just can’t stand it and the rush of the game, the thrill of doing this in public, the dirty immediacy of it all is a lethal cocktail that pumps through Jensen’s veins and pushes out any thought besides how much he wants to come—wants to fill Jared’s ass and mark him, claim him. Jensen slaps a hand over Jared’s mouth, muffling the desperate pleas and fucks as hard as he dares. Jared’s stifled, broken litany takes on a higher pitch behind Jensen’s fingers, growing breathy as he gasps for air, panting and shuddering. On some level or another, Jensen’s aware that they’re barely making any sound at all—too good at doing this and too much to lose if they get caught—but all he can hear is Jared’s desperation, his own breathing aligning to Jared’s pants.

Jensen fumbles a hand underneath Jared and between his legs, awkwardly groping Jared’s hard length because he doesn’t have enough brain cells left for finesse. His fingers slide over Jared’s balls, pushing them away before he gets a firm grip on Jared’s cock. Jared’s wet, dripping precome onto the grass, and Jensen runs his palm over the head of Jared’s dick, cupping some of the slick to get Jared all nice and wet like he likes. Jared doesn’t even last long enough for Jensen to start.

Jared comes with a muffled moan, gushing into Jensen’s cupped hand as his ass tightens around Jensen’s dick and Jensen’s vision blurs from the pressure. Jared’s still spilling come when Jensen’s orgasm hits, a tightly furled ball exploding inside him and leaving him to pick up the pieces. He slams into Jared once, twice, and bites down on Jared’s shoulder as he fills the condom.

Jared lets him stay on top for a moment, both of them panting hard as Jared supports them, and Jensen nuzzles at the mark he left on Jared’s skin. He relaxes the hand he has over Jared’s mouth, bringing it up to Jared’s back to push himself upward and then lets it trail over the hard muscle. “Jesus,” Jared whispers, shifting up from his elbows to his hands and Jensen hums in agreement. He pulls himself out, both of them wincing, and flops down beside Jared, basking in the afterglow for a little while. Jared’s still panting, trying to catch his breath and Jensen smiles at him before turning his head to stare up at the bleachers. Dirty satisfaction is thrumming through his body, making him feel lax and content, and Jensen doesn’t feel like moving. 

Ever.

There’s come slicking Jensen’s hand and he plays with it absently, thinking about how it’s Jared’s and how hot it is that Jared couldn’t even last until Jensen started stroking him. Then he just can’t help himself. He brings his hand to his face and licks at the glob of white in his palm, moaning quietly at the taste, an aftershock of pleasure rolling through him. He closes his eyes and sticks his index finger into his mouth, sucking the come off. Repeating the process with the rest of his fingers, he gets lost in the sensation a bit, the feeling of having something in his mouth combined with the taste of Jared too wrapped up together with remembered pleasure for him not to. When he’s done, his hand clean but wet, he licks his lips and smiles.

“God…” Jared groans, staring at him. “Gonna kill me, Jensen…” He rolls against Jensen’s side and humps him like he just can’t help himself despite the fact that his cock is softening. Jensen flicks his eyes up and down Jared’s body lazily, appreciating Jared’s long lines. Sometimes he still can’t believe that he gets to fuck that. Dream come true.

Jensen pushes Jared away, getting a little space between them and sits up to strip the used condom off his dick before it falls off and splatters everywhere. “How’s your ass?” he asks and Jared smirks.

“Lubed.”

“Mmm, that’s good,” Jensen says as he ties the latex into a knot. He’s going to have to hang onto it until they reach the trash can at the edge of the bleachers because there’s nothing like a used condom to make people hit the roof. Something about sexual deviancy among teens. 

Jared rolls up to lean on Jensen, his arms settling over Jensen’s shoulders as he licks at Jensen’s neck. “Why’s that?”

Jensen compliantly tilts head to give Jared more room to play. “’Cause I’m pretty sure I’m going to have to fuck it again soon and it’s nice to have it all ready.”

“Sure about that?” Jared nips at Jensen’s skin, a hint of teeth to make Jensen’s breath hitch. “I only lost once.” Amusement colors his voice and Jensen’s sure that his grin is bright enough to rival the sun.

“I’ll blow you first,” Jensen says, compromising, and Jared’s arms tighten around Jensen’s shoulders before he’s hauling Jensen off the ground.

“Well what are we waiting for?” Jared demands. He yanks up his pants and the knowledge that there’s now lube slowly slicking the inside of them nearly sends Jensen back down to his knees. The pants cling to every single line of Jared’s body, hiding nothing, and there’s a reason why Jensen’s developed a kink for Jared’s uniforms. He’s staring at Jared’s ass when Jared starts dragging him out from underneath the bleachers.

“The guys…?” Jensen asks because while the cheer squad has already abandoned Jensen to head to the Cone Corral without him, the football team is bound to be waiting for Jared.

“Jensen.” Jared levels a look at him. “We _lost_. The guys are probably thinking I’ve gone somewhere to come up with a new game plan or something. I’ll text them later.”

“Oh, right,” Jensen replies and smirks because the only game plan Jared’s likely to come up with is how best to fit his big cock into Jensen’s mouth. As for Jensen, he’s already flipping through his playbook, thinking of which position he wants Jared in next. Maybe he’ll flip Jared onto his back, just to see how Jared’s face shifts into that tight look of pleasure when Jensen fucks him.

It’s their own little morale booster, Jensen thinks, and it’s pretty damn funny because Jensen’s flying high and not feeling down at all. A year ago, he would have been pissed at losing but now it seems that even when he loses, he still wins. Life doesn’t get much better.

He drops the condom in the trash on the way out and thinks about the season schedule, because, losing or not, he really can’t wait to have Jared underneath the bleachers again.


End file.
